


Outfoxing

by Speakeasysyn



Series: Fox Tales [2]
Category: Hugo (2011), Inception (2010), Sherlock (TV), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-04
Updated: 2012-12-26
Packaged: 2017-11-20 07:09:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/582664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Speakeasysyn/pseuds/Speakeasysyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The tales of Greg Lestrade, John Watson and Eames.<br/>The three victims of a game of chase to satisfy their respective boyfriends littlest brother.<br/>The tales of how Hugo was able to outfox James Bond.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Coonhound and the Littlest Fox pt1

This is the start of a game turned into an all out betting match between the Holmes brothers and their respective "pets". James Bond's "initiation" was far more mild than Greg Lestrades, John Watson's or even Eames'. This is because the brothers added into the fiasco put up more and more rules concerning how much damage they were willing to clean up.

So this is the story of how Hugo Holmes successfully thwarted the Detective Inspector and started the hunting game with his older siblings and their boyfriends.

\--  
The sharp click of keyboards and the dull shuffling of papers numbed Detective Inspector Lestrade's mind as he slowly sipped at his watery lukewarm coffee. His other hand slowly paging through some case files. None of them worth noting because if they were he wouldn't be here. He'd be out at 221B presenting the case to Sherlock on a silver platter.

"Bollocks..." Lestrade sighed at his sudden realization.  
  
When did he turn into a butler of the younger Holmes brother? How? At least there wasn't that Moriarty fellow anymore so more work for him.  
  
His brows furrowed and his head dropped, trying to fight back a yawn. Nothing was getting done today for Lestrade, so he left the office for a bit.

A security camera posted on a street light whizzed and clicked, slowly turning to watch the Detective Inspector as he exited the building

It was just going to be a quick jaunt down the busy sidewalk from Scotland Yard with the full intention of getting a decent cup of coffee and maybe a donut, then back to work.

The camera whizzed, clicked, zoomed down at something just behind Lestrade.

 His phone suddenly buzzed and he pulled it out on instinct, expecting to see some text from Sherlock or the Yard for vanishing. Instead it was Mycroft.

  
'Watch your pockets, Detective Inspector. -MH'  
  
Lestrade looked up at the nearest security camera that whirred and set its all seeing eye on him. Lestrade gave a small little wave and cheeky smile at the receiving end. Then he was run into by something small.  
  
"Whoa there, kid. Be careful where you're going, alright?"  
  
A small boy staggered away from Lestrade and glared up at him with sharp pale eyes. He immediately walked away and Lestrade slowly started walking towards the coffee house, looking back in confusion. His phone buzzed again and he pulled it out.  
  
'Check your pockets. -MH'  
  
Lestrade stared at his phone confused, one hand fumbling in his now empty pockets. He turned quickly, the boy in a dark brown tweed jacket now running away. The camera zoomed in to get a better look of the boy as he ran, Lestrade soon right behind in pursuit.


	2. The Coonhound and the Littlest Fox pt2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lestrade takes in an afternoon swim.

  
The small boy in dark brown tweed ran as quickly as possible, not anticipating his pursuer to be so "in-shape" with so much grey hair. When the boy slide around a corner of Broadway and down Victoria street, Lestrade slide around the corner of Broadway and down Victoria street. Lestarde was like a tracking dog, hunting down the small boy that had just stolen his wallet and his surprise gift for his not so secret texter with a minor position in the British Government. Two tickets to than one fancy sounding play Lestrade wasn't sure was even in English, but he figured Mycroft liked it by the way he notice him glance at a poster promoting the play with some mild interest.  
  
Better than nothing and it was the thought that counts, but it wasn't much of a thought if he didn't have the evidence to back it up. Said evidence was now in the hands of a small child and Lestarde was gaining ground. His long black trench coat whipping behind him as he avoided pedestrian after pedestrian.

Hugo couldn't look back without losing some ground or running into someone again. He should have planned the route better or expected the old police dog to be in some sort of shape. But it wasn't like Hugo had to play fair either.

Lestrade gave a single laugh, victorious in nature as he was about to get the boy within tackling distance. That was until Hugo cut through busy traffic, barely missing a cab clipping his foot as he cut through Parliament Square and heading for Bridge street. Lestrade almost got hit by a car, almost, he stopped right before the traffic and weaved his way through as fast as he could, getting odd looks from fellow policemen on patrol as he ran past with a quick wave. They waved back, very slowly and very confused.

Hugo was sure he could have gotten this who thing settled with the traffic but had no other choice. He ran straight down Bridge street, onto Westminster Bridge and jumped.

Lestrade watched as the boy headed towards the bridge and jump right over into the water, Lestrade's ulterior motives of getting his wallet back vanished in an instant and he jumped in without a second thought.  
  
Then he saw a flash of dark brown tweed and a smile before hitting the water. A security camera panned and zoomed towards the bridge,  to see what was happening on the side with a crowd slowly getting in the way.  
  
Lestrade broke the water and spat out a minute portion of the Thames as he looked up and was promptly smacked in the face with his wallet falling from the sky. The small boy with sharp pale eyes in a dark brown tweed jacket was climbing back over the railings of the bridge. Lestrade now had his wallet and a found a note stuffed inside where the tickets were.  
  
'Go away, stupid dog! Stop seeing my brother!'  
  
The Detective Inspector had a hard time reading the scrawl, as if the person who wrote this didn't have a solid grasp on English, yet.  
  
The Thames was rather cold today...  
  
\--  
  
"I did warn you, Detective Inspector. Watch your pockets." Mycroft smiled to himself as he towel dried Lestrade's  hair. His sleeves were rolled up, jacket draped over a plush chair as he sat on the foot stool. Lestrade was in a warm, soft robe, naked underneath as Mycroft had his clothing dry-cleaned.  
  
"Well I'm sorry I didn't think you meant at that very second. Abusing the CCTV feeds as always." Lestarde brought his hands up to be placed over Mycroft's to take over his position of drying his hair. Mycroft smiled.  
  
"So who was he? A cohort of Sherlock's?" Lestrade inquired, looking at Mycroft curiously and knowing about Sherlock's use of the homeless network through John. Mycroft could only sigh.  
  
"Not entirely. Though I do apologize for my baby brother's actions."  
  
"Baby brother?" Lestrade raised his eyebrow.  
  
"Yes, his name is Hugo. A bit of a monster sometimes. Tricking you into the Thames..." Mycroft trailed off, digging through his back pocket and pulling out two, crumpled tickets. Lestarde's jaw dropped and he looked at those tickets in awe.  
  
"He dropped these off after you took in a nice afternoon swim. Really Greg, _Faust_?" Mycroft smiled warmly as Greg flushed and turned away.  
  
They shared a quiet kiss and a warm smile. They never made it to the play.  
\--  
Hugo though, was quickly shipped back to his other brother, Q with a very angry note pinned to his jacket by Mycroft after finally being caught by the police. 


	3. The English Setter and the Littlest Fox pt1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where the tables get turned and John sides with Hugo in his little game.

The game of hunt had now added in another player, poor John didn't know what to expect when Sherlock told him he had three other brothers over a cuppa and a pickled pigs head. Three? Other brothers? That's all John got out of Sherlock for the rest of the night about the subject. 

His ego had been sorely bruised.

\--  
  
John Watson had a busy day ahead of him. He had to shove Sherlock out of his bed, again,  get the laundry started, prod Sherlock into cleaning up the kitchen after his experiments, again, and then head to work.  
  
John yawned as he headed towards the clinic, coffee in hand as he opened the front door and waved to the receptionist, then to Sarah awkwardly. He vanished to his office and suited up in his white coat.  
  
The common cold, a case of the flu, a construction worker who needed a tetanus shot and a few texts from Sherlock concerning where he was (for irrelevant reasons). Like Sherlock didn't know where he was, so John ignored his phone and shoved it in his desk drawer as a small boy was ushered into his office.  
  
John smiled warmly at the young lad in dark brown tweed, a striped sweater and dirty shorts from play. The small boy had a backpack slung over his small shoulders as he sat down in front of John in a chair.  
  
"Well you certainly look like you've had a few scrapes at the knees. A bit too much rough housing on the school yard?" The small boy shook his head.  
  
"Hm, where's your mum? Did she bring you here?" Again, the boy shook his head.  
  
"Your dad then?" Another shake of the head as John looked over a blank patients form. Something suspicious, but John knew better than to judge at first glance.  
  
John smiled and nodded before turning around and moving towards his desk.

When John turned back around though, the boy had vanished leaving John more curious than he was before. He never saw the boy again, but he never forgot as he went about the rest of his day.

\--

With Tesco bags in hand, John slowly ascended the staircase up to room 221B. He stared at the doorknob, then his arms that were both occupied by the groceries. Both doors were closed.

"Sherlock?" He really needed someone to open the door for him.

"Sherlock, are you there? Get off the my laptop and open the door, please!" Still no answer. John rolled his eyes and fumbled with the groceries so he could open the door, but what was in front of him just made him confused, instead of angry over not having a hand with the door.

Sherlock was perched in his usual chair, fingers steeped in their usual fashion as his sharp eyes gazed over the small bow in dark brown tweed sitting by the coffee table and writing out on what looked like homework.

"Pencil."

"What?" John stared at Sherlock confused as he walked to the kitchen to find a place to set the groceries down.

"Pencil. I asked for one an hour ago." Sherlock suddenly leaned down and swiped the pencil from the small boy, receiving an angry look from the action as he started to scribble something next to the answer the boy had just written.

"I was at _work_ , Sherlock." John walked over and glared at the other.

"Well no matter. We found one."

"We?" John asked, looking at the mysterious boy from early in the day.

"John," Sherlock spoke quickly, looking up at John with a sarcastic smile, "I believe you have met my baby brother."

John wasn't sure if he was suppose to be shocked anymore by anything even remotely related to Sherlock. He looked down at the boy and smiled.

"He didn't even teach you any manners? Go on, introduce yourself." Sherlock's tone was dark, almost too dark as John found himself frowning at the way the boy glanced away.

"Hi. My name's Hugo." he spoke softly. Sherlock rolled his eyes and dropped the pencil with a clatter.

"What is he even doing here?" John sat down across from Hugo and looked up at Sherlock.

"I assume he's here to play a game with you, John."

"A game?"

"Yes, John. A game. I already said it, didn't I?" John rolled his eyes.

"And the game would be?"

"If I have been informed correctly, it is a game of chase." Sherlock looked down at Hugo almost judgingly and the boy glared back in defiance.

"Okay..." John spoke slowly, "So I'm suppose to--?"

"You, John, are to chase my brother through the city. He is to confuse you, possibly get you injured for the sake of being my, what was it? Boyfriend?"

"We aren't dating--" John tried to interject, but failed for being slower than Sherlock.

"Exactly. I told him as such but he doesn't seem to believe it." Sherlock's gaze craned from John to Hugo who looked away.

"You live in the same flat..." Hugo quietly protested.

"And that's to assume we sleep in the same bed? What _does_ that idiot brother of mine teach you? Obviously nothing useful if you can't even make a simple deduction like thi--"

But before Sherlock could finish Hugo suddenly shot up from his place and packed his school bag. Sherlock came down from his roost and grabbed his brother by the arm before he could reach the door.

"Where are you going? I didn't say you could leave nor was I done speaking with you!" John could only watch as they fought like two small children. Hugo pushed Sherlock hard, but only managing to have the other take a step back.

"You're an arse, Sherlock! Fine! I won't bother him anymore like you said and I'll go back to _my_ _real_ home!" Hugo ran off quickly, his footsteps almost nonexistent on the stairs, but the slam of the door loud enough to bother poor Mrs. Hudson.

Sherlock stood there staring at the spot his brother pushed him, face stone cold as he turned around and sat back in his chair. John looked up at Sherlock for an explanation.

"What? I simply told him being raised by a brother does not mean that brother is your parent and that also does not mean he is adequate for the job of raising a child on his own with a mediocre job along with the fact he is in his last few remaining months in university." There was a lot of back story John didn't understand, nor wanted to by the way Sherlock's lips formed a thin line, eyes closed in deep thought.

\--

A half hour later Sherlock received an angry phone call from, what John assumed, was the other brother caring for Hugo. Sherlock promptly ended the call prematurely and stalked off to hide in his room for the rest of the night, leaving the phone on their empty case table.

John felt like he was meddling, and he was, but he couldn't stop himself from grabbing Sherlock's phone and hitting the re-dial button.

"Sherlock, if you so much as even _think_ \--"

"Ah, sorry, sorry! This is John Watson? I'm Sherlock's flat mate. I was wondering if I could speak to Hugo?"

The voice on the other line was silent, but John heard the phone being handed over to someone else.

"Hello..?" There was a sniffle at the end of that question and John had an idea.

"Hey Hugo, sorry to bother you, but how about we still play your game, yeah?"

"But Sherlock said.."

"Bollocks to what Sherlock said. Oh! Sorry, forget I said that one bit. But forget what Sherlock said. How about you and I play a game against him instead?"

John didn't need to see the large smile growing on Hugo's face, he was smiling just as wide and they both spent the night planning a game of revenge against Sherlock over the phone.


	4. The English Setter and the Littlest Fox pt2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where the tables get turned again and poor John is up to his neck in trouble.

John Watson, once again, had a busy day ahead of him. Though unlike the other usual busy days he had, today was one that would hopefully put Sherlock into his place. Sure, John and his sister Harry had bad day, really bad days even, but he would never say what Sherlock had said.

He could still remember the phone call from last night. Hugo took a brief moment to try and explain why Sherlock was such an arse and it wasn't exactly happy.

"He said Q was a bad brother once." Hugo mournfully sighed.

"Because he doesn't think juggling university, a job and a younger brother is a smart thing to do?" John asked, sipping his hot mug of tea.

"Mhm, but Q is a great brother! Really, he is. He eats breakfast  with me every day and he makes sure I have all my things packed even though I always do. And he walks me to school and..."John could only chuckle at the way Hugo went on with praise for his older brother. His smile only grew wider when he heard Hugo protest at being picked up into a hug on the other end of the line.

"He's the best brother I could ever ask for. I just wish the others could see that." Hugo finished quietly, he twirled the old phone cord around his finger.

"Well it isn't like Sherlock doesn't care entirely. He is probably just concerned for your safety, is all."

"Sherlock doesn't care. He never cares cause he's an arse and he's a jerk. He never says anything nice about anyone." John could only agree silently, leaning over to make sure Sherlock's door was still shut.

"Well we'll have him on the run tomorrow. Don't you worry, Hugo."

At least that's what John was hoping for.

\--

It was 4 AM.

Sharp pale eyes opened, not even a grain of sleep in the corners. Sherlock sat up in bed, half his hair flattened from his pillow. Something was off.

He blinked once and glanced around his room. One, two, three, everything seemed in order. Though the room smelled slightly different. Earl grey, disinfectant and burnt coffee notes, though subtle, were enough for Sherlock to deduce that someone had entered his room without his permission when he was sleeping. John never made tea at 4 AM and if and only if he made coffee it was never burnt. Though John always smelled of disinfectant from the clinic, Sherlock found it strange there was the odor of coffee lingering in the air.

He rose quickly to his feet and stalked out of his room to look around. The lights were on, this was new, since John never rose before 5:00 no later than 6:30. Sherlock walked out into the living room at a note left haphazardly on the table, the scrawl most definitely John's but in a clumsy haste.

"Left for emergency. Will call later. -John"

Sherlock scoffed and flicked the note away, skulking back to his room for some early morning violin. What Sherlock didn't notice, though was John's cell phone under the table. The battery dislodged, the back of the phone popped off and the rest of the device laying face down.

\--

"So Mr. Holmes! It's so good of you to join us!" said a voice from the shadows, John could only groan in annoyance.

"I'm _not_ Sherlock Holmes!" he repeated for the millionth time, straining against his ropes and making the chair he was bound to creak. The voice growled angrily and stepped out into the yellow overhanging beam of light that seemed to swamp around John with the dust swimming around freely. Hugo sat next to him, bound to a chair with thick rope and very disgruntled.

Hugo sighed, this was not how the game was suppose to go.

\--

Sherlock was perched in his chair, fingers up in a steeple in front of his face. His eyes glanced around 221B slowly. John was still not back yet. A repaired cell phone sat on the coffee table in front of him.

John did not merely forget his phone. Damage to the screen and the state it was found in said there was a struggle. Smudged and dragged finger prints on the screen show a tight grip held onto the object as it was pried away.

Sherlock leaned down and grabbed a small dime bag filled with particles of dirt. Not from the local neighborhood of Baker street, no, no. Dirt, flecks of glass and rust were part of its contents. Sherlock had seen this before. As he rummaged around for his dirt samples from the bookcase Sherlock paused momentarily, he opened the box of samples and gazed through his indexed inventory. When he found his matching sample he pulled out an index card and the note scrawled in the corner.

"Hugo, MI-6 possible location? Investigate further."

A sudden icy twinge filled Sherlock's gut. It wasn't solid evidence, going off a gut instinct. Sherlock was all about solid deductions and evidence, but the feeling inside him bubbled. Before he knew it, Sherlock was hailing a cab and heading for his assumed location of MI-6 for further investigation of the assumed kidnapping of John Watson and Hugo Holmes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I haven't posted in a while! It's the holidays though and Christmas has "passed" so hopefully I can get back to writing!


	5. The English Setter and the Littlest Fox pt3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where John is still confused about the Holmes clan.

"I AM NOT SHERLOCK HOLMES! For GODSSAKE!!" John was boiling red as he struggled against his ropes even more. He was still unable to convince his captors he wasn't Sherlock Holmes, at all. Again. This was the third time this month and John was starting to think Sherlock was purposely giving a false identity just to get him into messes like this.

Hugo glanced around in a calm and collected manner. An old warehouse, cold, creaking old wooden chairs and three blithering idiots for captors. He looked up at an old security camera that whizzed and clicked, slowly craning its sight to look at the boy.

This was not according to plan, not according to plan at all! It frustrated Hugo to no end that he and John ended up getting kidnapped by three" idiots". Poor John was too frustrated to noticed but the three "idiots" holding them captive looked to be some lowly drug users. It seemed Mr Sherlock Holmes was less than inclined to no punch them in the face repeatedly in a previous case he handled. John was not present during this case. He only heard about it after finding Sherlock with a busted lip on the living room sofa, the tale regaled as quickly as it had ended.  Or so John though...

\--

_"Missing boy. Young man, more rather. Sixteen, possible drug addiction. The mother raved with insistence."_

_"At the door?" John asked as he dabbed Sherlock's cut cheek with antiseptic. Sherlock nodded._

_"Well that was very kind of you to take it on Sherlock. I'm surprised." John smiled slightly and Sherlock scowled._

_"Do not think this is some simple drug related kidnapping, John. I believe it is linked to MI-6." Sherlock mused as he closed his eyes and flopped onto his back against the couch. John's arms still up to where Sherlock was previously positioned to treat his face._

_"MI-6? Come on Sherlock, that's the secret service why are you so interested..."_

_"Confidential." John raised his eyebrows, mouth open to speak but decided against it._

\--

Sherlock never mentioned MI-6 after that and John soon forgot the whole affair after the week was up. Apparently Sherlock had not stopped and these were not just normal druggies but undercover MI-6 agents who were caught in the middle of a cartel run by Sherlock previously. Sherlock had single handedly ruined the entire operation and set the mission back tenfold. MI-6 had also received an anonymous tip along with several Q-Branch alerts that someone was trying to get into their systems.

And now John was paying the price for Sherlock's curiosity. Or so he thought...

\--

The warehouse suddenly went dark and the MI-6 undercover drug users "panicked". A few shots were fired, but all missing their mark as bodies hit the floor. The lights turned back on and Sherlock was standing by the light switches, holding one MI-6 agent by the back of his shirt collar. All of the MI-6 undercover agents were unconscious. One was even choked to sleep by Sherlock's scarf!

"Sher-Sherlock! It took you long enough. How did you ever find us?" Sherlock smirked and dropped the MI-6 agent, waltzing over to John and Hugo. The security camera whizzed and clicked, zooming in at the back of Sherlock's bare neck.

"Simple John, all I had to do was--Ah!" Sherlock flinched and  reached to the back of his neck and pulled out a small silver needle.

"What the he--" but before Sherlock could finish he fell face first into the dusty old concrete floor of the warehouse, asleep. John stared in disbelief.

"Sherlock...?"

" _Finally, I never thought he'd show._ " said a voice suddenly. Hugo and John looked up in the general direction of the voice. It was the security camera, a green light blinking as the words were spoken.

"E-excuse me?" John asked in confusion and the camera turned slightly to look at Hugo.

" _I'm going to be late home tonight cleaning this mess up. Just take some cab fare from him and I'll see you in the morning._ " The camera seemed to have shut off as the green light faded off. John glanced at Sherlock then Hugo then Sherlock then a free Hugo. The young boy had cut his ropes off and casually walked over behind John's chair to cut him free. Hugo pocketed his small penknife and walked over to Sherlock's sleeping corpse to rummaged through his pockets, plucking the wallet from his trouser pockets and fished out a few bills before pocketing them and running off without a word. John sat in his old chair in silence as Sherlock snoozed away.

\--

"Q."

" _Sherlock._ "

"Hugo."

" _Jerk._ "

John sat in his chair and sipped his tea quietly as Sherlock glared down at his laptop. His face was less than impressive with a swollen nose that was black and blue, a large bandage plastered over the bridge.

Not a single word was exchanged for a solid hour, but John could imagine the internal war of words going on between the three brothers. John sighed, he was actually looking forward to playing the game he and Hugo had devised. Though it seems someone else played the man behind the curtain deep down in the trenches of Q-Branch.

" _You **ruined** an operation_."

"How was I suppose to know it was MI-6 related?" Sherlock feigned ignorance and glanced away, grabbing his violin and plucked away.

"You bloody well knew you pretentious, condescending--"

"Oh do brush up on your vocabulary, dear brother."

John proceeded to sit through an awkward two hour word fight. In the end Sherlock seemed victorious, but it seemed a hollow victory by the way his brother working in MI-6 was distraught over the failed operation he had planned months before hand. Sherlock curled up on the couch and glanced over at John who was staring back apologetically.

"Not good?" Sherlock quietly asked.

"Not good." John replied and moved over to sit next to the other.

\--

Three days later Sherlock was visited by a tall, older gentleman with blue eyes and short, military cut hair. John couldn't hear the conversation but it seemed to leave Sherlock quiet as he watched the other walk back into the living room and straight to his bedroom as an Aston Martin DBS sped off down Baker Street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this makes sense...sob. So basically John's plan is debunked by Q's plan for revenge (at the cost of a few agents in medical for a few days) and then a mysterious gentleman appears to give Sherlock a good talking too.


End file.
